


important social customs

by owlinaminor



Series: courferre week 2k14 [6]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anniversary, Courferre Week, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"but now I also want a deliberately super, super cheesy porn fic. courfeyrac saying cheesy lines, dressed up, with literal porn music playing softly in the background. combeferre wondering how he fell in love with this dork." - tumblr user ferretrade</p>
            </blockquote>





	important social customs

**Author's Note:**

> courferre week, day five!
> 
> this fic is ridiculous. I am ridiculous. these assholes I love writing about are ridiculous. consider this your warning.

As usual, Combeferre is the second customer at the Musain on Sunday morning.

He orders his coffee (espresso, two sugars), pays with exact change, and sits down at the corner table by the window with the Musain's usual first customer: Enjolras.  The baristas stopped giving them strange looks after their first three weekly meetings and came to see the two leaders of a quickly-growing student protest group and their emphatic discussions of social issues as completely normal, which Combeferre appreciates in a city where his views are so often unwelcome.  The Musain is independently-run, radical-friendly, and doesn’t mind if unofficial political meetings are held inside.  And, well, it serves _really_ good coffee.

Usually, Enjolras and Combeferre use their Sunday morning meetings to figure out what they’re going to do at their next full group meetings, as well as doing research and planning for any events they might have coming up.  This morning before starting any of that, however, Enjolras brings up a completely different topic:

“Hey, Combeferre, congratulations.”

“Congratulations?” Combeferre asks.  He takes a sip of his coffee and raises one bemused eyebrow.  “For what?”

“You don’t remember?” Enjolras replies.

Combeferre sighs.  “Is this some sort of important day in the history of activism?”  (Enjolras tends to remember the dates of protests nobody else seems to care about and force the entire group to celebrate the sacrifices of those who died in the name of a better world.  It’s noble, but can get annoying.)

“No!” Enjolras exclaims, seeming insulted.  “It’s _your_ anniversary.”

“My _what_?”

“One year ago today, you and Courfeyrac finally figured out that you were head-over-heels for each other and put the rest of us out of our misery.  Haven’t you got him anything?”

Combeferre simply stares back blankly.

* * *

 

Combeferre had meant to spend his day productively.  He had meant to get ahead on his coursework, maybe finish a couple of articles, type up the notes from the previous week’s group meeting ... But no, instead, he’s spending his Saturday staring at the same shelf in a second-hand bookstore for ten minutes straight.

Shopping for Courfeyrac is suddenly the most difficult thing he has ever done.  At least, the most difficult thing he has ever done, outside of exams.  And preventing his friends not kill themselves.  But still – incredibly difficult.

The thing is, there’s nothing to _get_ someone like Courfeyrac.  Flowers?  He can’t take care of flowers.  He’ll try, he’ll try very hard, but then they’ll die prematurely and he’ll be sad for a week.  Books?  Combeferre goes to the bookstore and only finds books that _he_ really wants to read, not books that _Courfeyrac_ might want to read.  Music?  There’s nothing he can buy in a store that can’t be found on the Internet anyway.  Clothes?  Maybe, but Combeferre has been banned from buying clothes because, in the words of Courfeyrac himself, “The professor-nerd dressed by his grandma look works for you, Ferre, but not for anyone else.  Just, don’t.”

Yeah, Combeferre is pretty lost.

After traipsing around various shops for most of the morning, he finds a small deli, orders a sandwich, and sits down outside to brainstorm.  Combeferre is nothing if not a reasonable, logical problem-solver, after all.  Even if he forgot his anniversary until today and has no idea what to get his boyfriend, there’s no good reason why he can’t still make the evening very worthwhile.

It takes half an hour, three sheets of notebook paper, and a couple of calls to his friends, but Combeferre is eventually able to come up with a plan: he’ll get home before Courfeyrac gets off of work and cook a really nice meal.  The plan’s not that creative, admittedly, but Combeferre is a decent cook, and it’s the thought that counts, right?

Courfeyrac will appreciate it.  He’s sure.

* * *

 

Combeferre ascends the three flights of stairs to his and Courfeyrac’s apartment at precisely five P.M., one hour before Courfeyrac’s shift ends on Saturday.  He’s carrying a bag of groceries in one hand and a cookbook borrowed from Cosette in the other, and he is prepared, both physically and mentally, to carry on the challenge of cooking a high-quality dinner.

He stops at the door of the apartment, puts down his bag of groceries, and reaches into his pocket for his keys.  As he fits his apartment key into the lock, Combeferre is already planning the order in which he should start the various parts of his meal to be as efficient as possible.

The key turns, the door opens, and –

Something is definitely not right here.

The lights in the apartment, normally a plain, bright fluorescent white, have somehow been turned to dark green, blue, and purple.  Instead of the quiet hum of the refrigerator Combeferre had expected to hear, there is strange, tinny music with an out-of-tune electric guitar melody fading in and out.  And, most weirdly of all, there is an actual, honest-to-God smoke machine in the corner.  The whole experience is one of the set of an alien world on a cheap, sixties sci-fi show, or a club that caters specifically to middle-aged men going through mid-life crises.

Combeferre wonders if someone broke into the apartment and did all of this – no criminal in their right mind would break into a place just to make the ambience incredibly weird, but he wouldn’t put it past his friends to play a prank on him and Courfeyrac on their anniversary.

He’s about to pull out his phone and start some inquisitory texts when Courfeyrac walks out of the bedroom.

Courfeyrac, with his hair slicked back like a greaser from a bad high school production of Grease.  Courfeyrac, wearing a white button-down shirt with literally one button done and jeans that hang so low, a little bit of his bare ass is visible.  Courfeyrac, raising one eyebrow and pouting like Marius when he attempts (and completely fails) to look flirtatious.

Combeferre starts to ask what’s going on, but he doesn’t get much farther than “Wha?” because he’s honestly not sure how much breath he has to speak right now.

“Hey, professor,” Courfeyrac says, in a voice probably intended to be low and gravelly that instead ends up as an old woman with a smoking problem, “I know I did really badly on that test, but do you think there’s some way that I can, maybe ... Make it up to you?”

As he speaks, Courfeyrac slinks up to where his boyfriend is still standing by the doorway, swaying his hips back and forth more than Combeferre previously thought possible.

“Um?” Combeferre asks.  It comes out as a squeak.

Courfeyrac stops a couple of steps away and frowns.  “Combe _ferre_ ,” he whines, this time in his normal voice.  “You’re supposed to say, like, ‘I don’t usually provide extra credit, but for a student with as much _potential_ as you, I think I can make an exception.’”

“I am?”  Combeferre is getting more and more confused every second, honestly.  (Being confused is kind-of a new feeling for him, and he doesn’t particularly appreciate it.)

“Yeah, you are,” Courfeyrac replies.  “And then I would give you a blowjob.  That’s how it works.”

“How _what_ works?”  Has Combeferre just been missing important social customs his entire life?  People celebrate a year of being in a relationship?  Gifts are appropriate when you and your partner are successfully in love?  Extra credit is rewarded for blowjobs?

“ _Pornos_ , Ferre.  Haven’t you ever seen a porno?”  With this, Courfeyrac takes a couple of steps closer and puts his hands on his hips, openly glaring.  (As much as Courfeyrac _can_ glare, which is about as much as a kitten can glare, but he still makes a valiant effort.)

“Not really?  No?  I guess not?  I never saw the need to?” Combeferre says.

“Wait, really?”  Courfeyrac’s face goes through several stages, from surprised to annoyed to just plain embarrassed.  “I guess I should’ve thought of that before I made this your anniversary present.”

_Oh._

Combeferre replays the last few minutes in his mind: the colored lights, the strange music, the weird outfit, the lines ... He hasn’t ever seen a porno, sure, but he can make a pretty good educated guess as to what was going on.

“So, you tried to seduce me like in a cheesy porno for my anniversary present,” he says slowly.

Courfeyrac nods.

“You do realize that there’s no need for you to do anything special to seduce me, right?” Combeferre asks.  “I mean, you’re pretty much the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met, and this is not doing anything to help your case, but ... I love you, just how you are.”

Courfeyrac grins, at that – grins like the sun’s coming out after a long storm.  And then, he launches himself forward, puts his arms around Combeferre’s neck, and kisses him senseless.

This, Combeferre knows, definitely _is_ right.

“You know, I’m never gonna get tired of hearing you say that,” Courfeyrac says when they pull apart.

Combeferre smiles.  “Good, because I’m never going to stop saying it.”

Courfeyrac leans back in for another kiss, then jumps suddenly, his grin widening.  “I just remembered!  There’s more cheesy porno stuff you totally haven’t seen yet!  I got these colored condoms, okay, you’re going to love ‘em ...”

And he pulls Combeferre to their bedroom, still talking.

* * *

 

“So, Ferre, I never got a chance to ask ... What did _you_ get _me_ for our anniversary?”

“Um.”

“C’mon, tell me!”

“I was going to make dinner before you got home from work.  Which, obviously, didn’t happen.”

“That’s okay.  You can just owe me a sexual favor.”

“Don’t I already owe you five sexual favors?”

“You’re keeping a _tally_?  Ferre, this is why I love you.”

“... Love you, too.  Idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](http://liberteegalitehomosexualite.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk more about these ridiculous assholes.


End file.
